Mean To Me
by violetdoodlebug
Summary: One-shot based on a really pretty song. If you're reading Gracie's Journal, read this. If you don't like Gracie's Journal, she's not in here so no worries. Just some fluffy, mature, communicating Densi. Communicating? Gasp! Fanfiction is a beautiful thing.


A/n: SO. What's this? Well I heard this song called 'Mean To Me' by Brett Eldredge (don't judge I like country music, okay?) and TOTAL Densi feels. I hinted it on tumblr that someone should write me a fic with this song but nooooooo one took the hint. So I was reduced to doing it by myself. So I'm tagging this in with Gracie's Journal, but if you don't read that, it's okay. I don't mention her in here. This would be like, the night of her conception (okay, no graphicness I don't do that). It doesn't fit in her journal, and this is more just straight Densi. Oh yeah, and the refrigerator light thing? Blame Taylor Swift for writing 'All Too Well' (yes I like her too). But that's like sad disaster and this is not so... enough of this authors note! TOO LONG! Just put 'Mean To Me' on, read, and fangirl/fanboy.

And tell me if the term fanboy is a thing.

* * *

Mean To Me

* * *

He walked toward the car, and something was just off. She sensed it too.

They'd done it, in every sense of the term. Sex, sure. That one time. That one time they don't like to talk about. But more importantly, they'd stepped over the line that divided them from friends and work partners to an actual thing.

And this was the first time since then that she'd had to doll up for an undercover op and flirt with  
pedophiles at a bar somewhere. Deeks didn't like that too much.

"What's the matter, Deeks?" Kensi asked, quietly.

"Did that feel kind of weird to you?" he asked, adjusting his collar.

"What, that, in there?" she said, pointing to the bar.

"Yeah, in there," he nervously scratched his scruff.  
"What do you mean, by weird?" she asked. It was an undercover op. It went well. They got the guy. Perfect, job well done.

"It's just, you walked in, and all eyes were on you. They way those guys looked at you, it just rubbed me the wrong way."

"Deeks..." she started.

"It's just, you're worth so much more than they treated you like," he said.  
She stood and locked eyes with him, car separating them.

"Really?" she replied.

"Really, Kens."

"You know that you're the only one I..." she began, but stopped.

She didn't know how to finish the sentence. She knew what she felt and she knew now was the time she needed to vocalize it.

But how?  
"If I could be that one person who makes your heart beat a little faster, that peace that draws you to sleep, your spark, your fire, your everything, I'd be half of what you mean to me. And yet you walk into a room and turn every head, and you mean nothing to them compared to what you mean to me." he said, quickly.

The 'I love you' admissions had not come yet. That takes time, and neither of them will say it  
until they know for certain this isn't going anywhere. There's a lot of risk in those words. They like to say 'falling in love with you'. That would imply that they are falling, but have not fallen yet.

But that's not true. Kensi Blye has fallen madly in love. And the object of her affection is not a former Marine, but an LAPD detective.

And there. He said it. He said what he wanted to be to her. And he so is. He makes her heart race  
and he lulls her to sleep with his hands and he is her spark.

And she can't just say, "You are," because that's lame and it doesn't make the point she needs to make.

She is madly in love with Marty Deeks and he so desperately needs to hear it and never before has she needed to say it like right now.

She walks around to his side of the car, and pulls him toward her.  
She sticks a hand in his front pocket, and leans up and kisses him.

"I am in love with you. Long past falling. Fallen. And Deeks, you are all of those things. You are and you have been. And I may not be able to verbalize it, but you are. You mean so much more to me than I can put into words."

"You're doing a pretty good job right now," he said, with a quick smile.  
"That's because you got all romantic on me," she rebuked.

"To make it worse, I have this irresistible urge to dance with you right now," he replied, rubbing his hand up her arm.

"Well?" she asked, with a flirtatious grin.

He gave her a skeptical grin, and then told her to get in the car.

The mood in the car was light, with anxious hints of sneaky  
nerves.  
They arrived at his place, and they headed toward the door.

"We've never done this before, unless you count that one time with Hetty..." he said, pulling her jacket sleeve off of her arm.

She propped herself up against the table, leaning against it.  
Her smile said it all.

"Should there be music?" he asked.  
"I don't care," she said exasperatedly.

He took the hint, and grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her into the kitchen. He flicked on the refrigerator light. It was dim, but he could see the light in her eyes. Perfect.

They had no idea what they were doing, not a clue. But her head laid on his shoulder and his arms encircled her. They rocked back and forth, slow.  
They're fast people. They're jobs were fast, by nature. This was not them. However, it symbolised their entire relationship; take it slow.

"Stay?" he asked.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Beer? Wine?"

"We're trying new things today, I vote wine."

"Kens?"

"Mmhm?" she mumbled.

"I love you too."

"I know." He retrieved the wine, poured her a glass, and then one for himself.

"Wanna go to bed after this?" he asked quietly.

"Bed, or _bed_?" she replied.

"I'm content with either."


End file.
